You Stupid Sheepherder!
by SerayaNeko
Summary: Gilles Mouton is a lowly shepherd, until he rescues a beautiful princess from a kidnapping attempt. Sounds perfect right? Not when the Princess turns out the be rude and snobby, or when she is punished by her father. To live in Gilles' village, much to


Chapter One

"I'm not going. What makes you think that I need to listen to what you tell me! You're nothing but a poor garcon that my papa took pity on! You are nothing but dirt on my slipper! I spit on you!"

And with that, Princess Deardrè stomped off.

I sighed in exasperation. Why me? What did I do to deserve this constant torture? Though it is true that I am a poor shepherd from Pont D'Ailles, but I never asked to be spit on. Especially by _her_.

"Bonjour Gilles!" I heard someone shot from behind me. I turned to determine the source of the voice, and smiled upon recognizing my friend.

"Salut Jacques, how is the kitchen today?" You see, Jacques is the head chef's apprentice, and my only friend in the chateau.

"Bon mon ami, but how is our Diabelle today?"

"She's as rotten as ever. I'm not surprised her father betrothed her to a shepherd, no Lord would take her. No matter how rich she may be."

I laughed and agreed. While he said: "She's like a pampered stallion, to good to carry a knight on her back, so is reduced to carrying kitchen supplies. No offence to you Gilles."

"None taken." I responded. "I completely understand. I'm no pampered Prince, and honestly, I've never thought I'd even come close. Give me my sheep and crook over these pampered nobles any day!"

"Some of us think you should watch your back. Not every peasant would cringe at the prospect of marrying the Princess." He stopped and paused for a moment. " I had best return to the kitchen. Au revoir garcon-heros!"

Garcon-Heros. Hero Boy. Great. I hope that doesn't stick. But perhaps I am getting ahead of myself. I keep forgetting that you don't know anything about my adventures thus far. I'll quickly relate them to you.

About a year ago, I was tending to my sheep as per usual, and as I led them through a forest trail, I came across a gilded carriage that had been completely trampled. The wheels were gone, and it seemed as if the velvet curtains were ripped and tattered. I could hear a faint rustling from inside the box. I called out, and the rustling became louder still. I pushed past the ruined velvet to spy the most beautiful…ly dressed woman that I had ever seen. Unfortunately, I didn't have much time to dwell on the subject, as before I knew it, her bound legs kicked me outside of the carriage. I landed on my back into a mud puddle, and as I looked up, one of my sheep bleated, dropping some cud it was currently chewing on my face.

I remember the magic.

As you can probably imagine, I was dirty. But nevertheless, I sprung up and wiped my face off- with my even dirtier sleeve, and used the muddy water to try and remove the developing grass stains on my only pair of breeches. Lovely. Now, more assuredly, I approached the carriage, and using a small knife, I cut the lady's bonds and gag free. Bad idea. She then commenced to insult me from every possible level. My status, my state of cleanliness, my shagginess, and worst of all… my beloved sheep. Needless to say, I was _not_ impressed. Anyhow, to make a much longer story short, I escorted the Princess Deardrè of France reluctantly. With my sheep tagging along behind me.

When we arrived, her father betrothed us on the spot. Personally, I'd like to think that he was disappointed that she returned. (Many people think he was the one who paid off her driver to leave her there. Frankly, I don't blame him.) To say that Deardrè was mildly upset is to compare a slight drizzle to a howling thunderstorm.

For the past year, I have been living at the Louvre in Paris, aggravating the stewerd with my refusal to wear any fancy clothes or cut my hair, or cut my beard, or have a bath everyday. Who needs that?

Anyways, now that you've been caught up to recent events, where was I? Ah yes, the corridor. Alone. I made my was to my rooms and examined myself in the polished silver mirror. My unruly brown curls covered my eyes, and my beard covered what was left. I had a smidgeon of dirt on my nose. I reminded of myself of something Deardrè had said:

"Once a dirty sheepherder always a dirty sheepherder. Whether you are my mari or not."

At the time, I'd wanted to reply that I'd at least keep on sleeping with animals… but I'm above all of that you see.

However it is getting late, and if I need to convince my 'darling fiancé' to escort me to court tomorrow, I will need so rest.

Bon Soir Mes Amis,

Gilles Mouton

A/N I have used a bit of French vocabulary in this story- as it is set in medieval France. The meanings of the words are somewhat obvious, but if you need help with the translation- I probably would- I'd be more than happy to start making a little dictionary at the end of each chapter!

Please Review! It makes me glad!

Seraya


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